27
Miss Patel doesn’t bother trying to teach the rest of the day’s lessons after the ambulance takes Eileen away. Instead she lets us have free time until the final bell. No one can stop talking about what happened. Only Krysta is oddly quiet. I wonder if she realizes that Eileen took all that Amber because of her.
Right before the final bell rings, Miss Patel gets a phone call from the front office. I can tell it’s good news by how her shoulders seem to relax.
“Class,” she says, turning to us. “We’ve heard from Eileen’s parents that she’s recovering quickly. She’ll be in the hospital until the Amber works itself out of her system.” She glances at Krysta and flashes a reassuring smile. “If all goes well, she’ll be back in time for your dance performance on Wednesday.”
Everyone looks relieved, and I should be too. But I can’t help the uneasy feeling that’s still pumping through me.
After the bell rings, Krysta slowly packs up her things.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s just scary. I’ve never seen anyone that sick before.”
“I know.” I take a step forward. “I was thinking about it and… I think you should give my spot in the dance group to Ava.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“It’ll be better that way.”
“Are you sure?” Krysta asks, while Yuli looks on, clearly stunned. “If you change your mind, I can’t put you back in.”
I swallow. Am I sure? Is this what I want? But all I can think of is Eileen sprawled on the ground, her body fighting the Amber as if it were an invisible enemy.
“Honestly, I don’t even like to dance,” I say. “Besides, Ava’s a lot better than I am. She should have been in the group from the beginning.”
“Okay,” Krysta says.
I should be disappointed that she’s letting me go so easily, and miserable that I’ll no longer be part of the dance group. But instead the tightness in my chest loosens and suddenly it’s easier to breathe.
After school, I hurry toward Daniel’s house. The perfume bottle in my backpack feels as though it weighs more than I do.
When I knock on Daniel’s door, his aunt answers.
“I’m sorry. Daniel’s not here,” she says.
“That’s okay. I just wanted to give you something.” I hold out the Amber, my hand shaking slightly. “For Mikey.”
Aunt Flora blinks in surprise. “We—we can’t accept this.”
“Please,” I say. “Take it. He needs it a lot more than me.” Then I press it into her hand and hurry away before I change my mind.
When I get home, Tata is ripping up my black-eyed Susans.
“What are you doing?” I cry. “You’re killing my flowers!” They’ve been growing so well in the spot where I replanted them, making the most of their little bit of sunshine.
“They’re spreading out and taking over the rest of the garden,” Tata says. “And I already told you. They’re not flowers. They’re weeds. They’re invasive.”
“Invasive?” I repeat. “What does that mean?”
He thinks for a second and then says, “If you allow them to get out of control, they take over.”
I remember the shouts at the protests. These people are invading our country.
“Who says they’re weeds?” I ask. “I think they look nice. Why can’t we let them grow like normal flowers?”
“Because they’re not flowers,” Tata says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “They’re pests!”
“You’re as bad as everyone else!” I cry.
I gather a few of the torn-out black-eyed Susans and stomp into the house. Then I get a vase from the kitchen and carefully put the flowers into some water. Tata might think they’re pests, but they brighten up my entire room when I place them on my desk. Why does calling something a weed make it worse than a flower?
My wildflower project is sitting on top of my textbooks, finished and ready to be handed in on Tuesday. I titled it The Wonder of Wildflowers. I stare at the cover for a long time, daring myself to do it. Don’t be noticed. Blend in. Finally I take out a marker and cross out the title of the project and write The Wonder of Weeds.